


Five Steps to Acceptance

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <em>Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. </em>Draco goes through each in turn. But <em>why</em>?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Steps to Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brinimc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brinimc).



> Beta: wendypops  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, not me

  
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_Denial_

“NO!” I scream and shout at anyone who tries to tell me different. “It’s not right.”

They wrap their arms around me and dare to speak to me like that. I know it’s not true. It’s all lies; pathetic, unfunny lies told because I am who I am and he is who he is. I tell them this but they don’t listen. I don’t want their arms around me, offering false comfort. I want his arms around me. I want them to stop telling lies and bring him back to me.

~

I was at the office when they first told me the lie. Hermione had burst through the door, eyes red-rimmed and hair pushed back in a shaggy ponytail.

“Draco!” She had burst into tears, and from the sight of her, it wasn’t the first time she had done so that morning.

I thought she was my friend so I put my arms around her and led her to a chair. I poured her a cup of tea while I waited for the sobs to subside so she could tell me exactly what that bastard of a husband had done to her this time.

Apparently, it wasn’t her bastard of a husband that had made her cry this time.

“He’s gone,” she whispered as her cries calmed down enough to let her talk. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone where?” I asked her gently, my curiosity piqued. Hermione wasn’t usually this inarticulate or unforthcoming with information.

“Dead. Gone,” she said before bursting into tears once more.

I started to feel the creep of dread rising in my chest. She looked up into my eyes and I knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth.

‘ _Don’t say it. Please, Merlin, don’t say it.’_ I silently begged her. I just didn’t want to hear it.

We had worked together for so long; I thought she was my friend. Friends don’t lie like that to their friends.

“Harry.” She said it anyway and the bottom fell out of my world.

I listened carefully to what she said next, I’m sure I did. It was important; I had to listen. But I can’t remember a fucking word that was said.

~

Now, they try and comfort me with words. I know they’re mistaken; Harry wouldn’t go. He promised he would never leave me and he _always_ keeps his promises. I tell them that he promised he’d never leave me and all they do is look at me with sadness in their eyes.

I spare a passing thought for Harry’s Auror partner. Sarah and I have never got on, but I know that she would protect him from anything, and he would throw himself in front of a curse for her in a heartbeat. That is another reason why I know that they’re mistaken. Harry is a good Auror — the best. Harry doesn’t get killed; he just gets the bad guy.

The thought is fleeting because it’s not true. Harry isn’t gone, so there’s no need for it. For any of it.

 

 _Anger_

“Let go of me!” I snarl in their faces as they grip my arms. “Let me fucking go!”

They’re trying to hold me back. I only want to talk to the bastard and they won’t let me. It’s all his fault. He should’ve just let Harry leave. He wanted to leave so much.

 _“I can’t take it anymore, Draco.”_ That’s what he used to say to me when he arrived home late, exhausted and bruised. _“They pile all the work on me and Sarah. It’s not fair.”_

“You bastard!” I cry as their hands grip my upper arms tighter. “You did this. You made this happen. Why wouldn’t you just let him go?”

I fall to the ground sobbing, but I don’t care. Let them witness this. Let the fucking Ministry _see_ what they’ve done.

Harry had tried to talk to Kingsley many times about leaving the Aurors. He’d told his supposed friend that he was tired of fighting. He’d told him that he’d had enough of being the Ministry’s toady. Kingsley was supposed to be his friend. He wasn’t supposed to just say ‘ _One more year, Harry. Then we’ll talk again. Just give me, us, one more year.’_

Harry had done his part. He’d saved the world; he’d trained as an Auror as was expected of him. He’d caught the bad guys. He wanted some time for himself; he wanted some time for _us_.

“Bastard!” I scream once more as I still sit on the ground, their hands still holding me back. “You should’ve let him go!”

The people crowded around us point and whisper as I sit on the floor, so I turn to face them. “It’s your fucking fault too!” I scream at them. “He did his part. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone?”

 

 _Bargaining_

“Please, Hermione!” I cry in desperation. “Just look again!”

She sits there in her smart work robes, with her hair looking perfect. It’s too perfect; it should be frizzy from doing all the research she is supposed to be good at.

“I have money,” I add hopefully. “I can buy books or fund research. There must be a spell, or a charm or just something. Please. You must know _someone_ who can help me. We have to do _something_!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” she mutters, wringing her hands. “I’ve looked, I promise. There’s nothing. We would have heard about it by now.”

I look at Ron and his eyes are shining but I know he is resolute in his support for his only remaining best friend. When she says no, he looks sad but nods anyway.

“Please,” I beg one last time. “I would give anything. Please.”

One tear drops down Hermione’s cheek as she slowly shakes her head. Ron hands her a tissue and I leave the room.

This is also their fault. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, protect him and now they won’t help me get him back.

 _Depression_

“Draco!” Hermione’s shrill cry pierces through the silent house as she bangs on the door. “I know you’re in there. Open this door!”

I remain on the sofa, surrounded by a month’s worth of newspapers. I haven’t read them yet, but they’re taunting me; his picture is looking at me from every front page.

After another vigorous blow to the front door, I swish my wand and permit Hermione entrance. She isn’t alone. I raise my eyes to look into the face of my oldest friend and wait for what is sure to come.

“What the blubbering fuck?” Pansy cries as she takes in the nest of pillows beside me and the empty bottles of Firewhisky on the coffee table. “Can you please explain to me why you seem to be living on the sofa like some sort of ruffian?”

“And please explain to _me_ why I’ve had to cover for your arse this past month at work?” Hermione puts in with her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “You were supposed to come back to work, but we haven’t had so much as an Owl.”

They look similar, the two of them standing together and looking down at me with a mixture of sadness and exasperation in their eyes.

“I can’t sleep without—” I pause and allow the tear that has been at the corner of my eye to fall.

“Harry,” Hermione unhelpfully supplies and I wince at the ease with which she says his name.

“And work—” I look straight into her eyes. “What’s the point?”

“Have you even left the house?” Pansy asks uncharacteristically softly. “Have you visited the memorial?”

More tears fall as I shake my head.

The two of them share an unreadable look before sighing and taking a seat either side of me. They wrap their arms around my shoulders and I don’t stop them.

 _Acceptance_

“Good morning!” I greet my colleagues with a smile as I enter the office I haven’t stepped foot into in nearly two months.

The shock on their faces makes my smile wider. “I take it you’re _not_ pleased to see me?”

The small office rushes to answer, and my workmates rise one-by-one to greet me properly.

My boss appears from her office, obviously alerted by the noise.

“Mr. Malfoy?” she asks, with confusion clear in her voice. “I thought we’d received your letter of resignation a while ago?”

I move forward to shake her hand. “Yes, I’ve just popped in to say ‘hello’. I won’t take up much of your time.”

She nods and tells me goodbye before tottering back into her office. She had always been polite, but I always could tell she hadn’t cared for me. I had loved my job once upon a time; Quidditch was one of my first loves and I got to keep _most_ of the articles in check.

I chat with my old colleagues for a few minutes before they excuse themselves in turn to continue with their work. It is nice to hear the genuine words of friendship from the few people that I talked to on a daily basis. It’s far too late, but it’s nice anyway.

I wonder where Hermione is until I hear the sound of heavy files falling to the floor and a strangled ‘Draco’ from the doorway.

I move to embrace her and the look of surprise is still evident on her face.

“You’re out of the house,” she says. “You’re here. Are you returning to work?”

“No,” I tell her. “I was simply wondering if you might like to join me for lunch.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she says, a bright smile replacing the surprised look. “Let me just sort these articles out.”

She bends to pick up the forgotten files, and I help, fighting down the urge to run to the bathroom when I see his face looking at me from the parchment.

I smile at her as she rushes about the office, distributing papers to their respective desks. She picks her handbag up and I take her elbow and guide her towards the exit.

I choose a quiet restaurant for lunch and wait until we’ve been served before I discuss the reason for my impromptu visit.

“Will you come with me to the memorial?” I ask her. “I don’t think I can face it on my own.”

Hermione quickly swallows her mouthful of food before answering.

“Of course! When would you like to go?”

“After lunch?” I say. “I have some things I’d like to talk to you about first.”

“You’re looking so well,” Hermione says after a comfortable silence. “Are you feeling better?”

I nod and bite back the nervousness creeping up my spine.

“Yes, thank you. I’ve been sleeping better, and I’ve been sorting _things_ out.” I tell her quietly. “I think it’s helped.”

A suspicious look crosses Hermione’s face. “What type of things?”

“The house, mainly. I’ve decided to sell it; there are just too many memories. That’s the main thing I wanted to talk to you about.” I’m surprised at how calm I’m sounding. I can feel my heart racing as I speak. “I’m moving abroad.”

“What?” she nearly shouts. “Sorry, what do you mean? For how long?”

“Forever, I think.” A calm feeling washes over me as I tell her. I find it very freeing. “There’s nothing here for me anymore. I’ve spoken to my parents and they understand; Pansy, on the other hand, is furious.” I chuckle yet Hermione doesn’t smile.

Hermione looks quite funny, sitting opposite me with a dumbstruck face. We eat the rest of our lunch in silence before moving onto the memorial.

The memorial is, for want of a better word, ugly; it’s gaudy and pretentious and everything that Harry would’ve hated. I say nothing and simply bow my head. Hermione must think that my silence is sadness as she threads her arm through mine. I nod at her and begin to walk away. I’ve seen enough.

As we walk, I decide to seize my chance before I lose my nerve again.

“Can I ask you a question?” I wait for her nod before continuing. “Why did you do it?”

The question causes Hermione to stop in her tracks. “Do what?” she asks.

“Why did you keep publishing those articles about H-Harry?” I curse myself for stumbling over his name. I’m supposed to be over this by now. “He hated them.”

“You know why,” she answers shortly. “I told Harry when he asked in the beginning. To keep them from delving too deep into his life. If Harry was constantly present in print, people would find him less interesting.”

I nod but I don’t listen. I have, of course, heard this spiel many times from her. She never would listen to Harry when he asked her — told her — to stop writing about him. Hermione with an idea was like a Thestral with a raw steak. She just wouldn’t let it go. I simply wanted to see if she still felt the same way, and knowing that she did seemed to confirm my decision.

I tell Hermione what else I have sorted for my ‘trip abroad’ as I escort her back to her office.

I kiss her cheek in goodbye and promise to Owl when I get to where I’m going. She asks again where it is and I tell her truthfully that I just don’t know.

As I walk back to the house, I take a moment to enjoy my last few hours of British sunshine and smile happily.

I’m ready to join Harry.

 

 _~~~_

 

As the Portkey drops me unceremoniously into the rented house, I sigh happily. Time for a fresh start. Away from the prying newspapers and the demanding people; time to just start again.

“So, she bought it then?”

I automatically smile, but change it quickly to a frown before turning around to face the interloper.

“Two months apart, and that’s how you greet me?” I ask, the smile slipping back onto my face without my permission.

I run and he runs and we’re laughing and touching and kissing. It’s glorious and it’s right.

“Yes,” I reply between kisses. “They all did. We’re free!”

Harry’s smile is beaming as he wraps his arms around me tightly. “Thank you,” he whispers in my ear.

“You were right, though,” I say, grudgingly. It is hard for me to admit that these past two months without Harry were worth it. “She even explained them to me once. I think it was while I was in my anger stage.”

“Yeah, Hermione always was one for the rules. And the rules of grief are no different.” Harry’s smile slips a bit. “She never would’ve believed me dead if _you_ hadn’t grieved properly.”

“Do you think you’ll ever tell them?” I mutter into his shoulder. “Do you think we’ll ever go back?”

“Maybe. We’ll just have to wait to see what the future brings.” His lips are on my neck and it’s perfect. “So. Tell me about this grief.”

“Shut it, you,” I retort. “I’ll have you know that I played my part very well. I even slept on the sofa for a week.”

“Is that right?” he asks, chuckling. “Well, let me make it up to you. I happen to know that there’s a very comfortable bed around here somewhere. Let’s get you settled in.”

The end.

  



End file.
